


Two Player Game

by grapefruitghostie



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: HUGE AU, Other, Synesthesia, Triggered, assignment: write about a time you/a character observed someone else's odd behaviour, far from canon, i wrote this for an english assignment, i wrote this in one class period its short af, messy story, michael mell is chromosthetic, michael narrates what happes after his death, post squip, suicide warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 02:36:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10821975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapefruitghostie/pseuds/grapefruitghostie





	Two Player Game

Rachel Houser  
5/4/17  
Creative Writing  
Period 3

 

Two Player Game

  
_Why is he like this?_ I stand silently (as if I could make any noise if I wanted to) in the doorway of my old bedroom as my best friend mopes on my bed. I mean, I totally get it – we were each other’s only friend; we had each other’s back when no one else would.

  
I guess this is my hell; just watching him live without me (if you could call it living). He hasn’t eaten in about three days – or, I think it’s been three days, time doesn’t really work in the afterlife. On the same note, since I left I haven’t seen him sleep or touch our game console. Every time he eats it goes right in the toilet.

  
His parents died in a car crash when we were eleven, he was at our house while they went out to see a movie. The never came back. He’s been living with us since; we may as well have just adopted him. His bedroom was right next to mine and we shared the upstairs bathroom, and _Jesus, Jeremy, that smells like your last few meals go clean it. Just because I don’t use it anymore doesn’t mean it doesn’t still need to be cleaned!_ The worst thing about being dead is that I can’t yell at him anymore when he does something dumb.

  
My mom hasn’t eaten much either. My dad’s been drinking a lot though, and I hate seeing my mom have to tolerate that. Oh, now Jeremy’s crying again. _God, kid, get some sleep. I’m fine, it’s not like I’m gonna die._ Was that too harsh? Nah, I’m already dead. I chuckle to myself and knock over a book on the shelf, maybe he’ll feel better knowing I’m still hanging around here with him.

  
He shoots up and I snort at his jumpiness.

  
“Jesus, I need sleep,” he mutters to himself and I have to admit I’ve missed hearing that turquoise tone his voice had. _Yeah, I’ve been trying to tell you that. Man, I leave you alone for a week and you already can’t take care of yourself_. I walked over to my record player boldly and, since I can’t quite hold things, I play a slow part of the last record we listened to.

  
At my funeral my mom cried over my dolled up corpse. Why I was wearing makeup over the rope burn on my neck I’ll never know, but it’s like they wanted to cover up the truth. It doesn’t even match my skin color! I wish I could have consoled him, all of them really, but Jeremy was taking it worse that I thought he would. I mean, my mom still had one of her sons left, my dad was too lost in his cup to care about anything around him. He said that was how he coped, but his voice went bright red the way it did when he was lying. He just needed an excuse.

  
Six months after my funeral, I watched him write a note of his own. He pulled mine from the drawer – he found it but told everyone I didn’t leave one – and read it over, setting his own right next to it on the desk. He fed my fish; _that thing ate more than Jeremy did_ , I thought. Half of me wanted to stop him from swallowing those pills, but I knew nothing would stop him. He’s stubborn, he’s driven, he always has been. Part of me wanted to see him. I _needed_  to see him.

I knew I was being selfish; I knew I couldn’t take my mom’s other son from her. She only had one left. Jeremy’s sobs were a grotesque, dark blue-green color – like the color you get when you mix a teal marker with a light blue marker on a thin sheet (you know when it goes through the paper and it’s all gross on the desk). He was a mess, the color in his voice clashed horribly with the yellow pills, and he was wearing my old red hoodie – the one with the Joy Division logo on the back and the bear on the hood – that he hadn’t taken off in a while. I kept watch until he was gone; it was slow and hard to see but I was glad to see him finally go to sleep.


End file.
